morning fog had dissipated.
III.
When Kelsey was six, her father used to chide her to hurry along, stay by the
cart, behave. Instead she hopped from blue tile to blue tile, slowing her father and occupying the whole of each isle in the market. No matter how many times he chastised her,
no matter what strain of frustration was pressing against his voice, she was solely occupied with the tiles. Always blue, never red. Never step on the lava.
IV.
Kelsey glanced toward her grandmother’s hand. The pale veins seemed illuminated
against her black sleeve. Kelsey followed the sleeve up to Grandma Matthews’ face,
steady and worn, unbroken against the wind and the misery. Instead of swarming over
swollen cheeks and inflaming smooth eyes, Grandma Matthews’ tears soaked into her
skin like dew into damp soil. Who knew what would grow there next? Memories, wisdom, thoughts of days to come… Kelsey saw it all being planted.
A shout broke her reverie, and she glanced through the crowd of attendees. One or two
people looked up, but most were quiet and demure, still listening to the minister’s blessings. Her posture began to slowly relax until she heard another more distinct shout, and
this time several others began looking around with her. The shout was joined by a few
other voices and became repetitive, but Kelsey could see nothing through the shoulders of
the standing group, and eventually the sounds grew so loud that the minister paused for
the disturbance. Kelsey stood and craned her neck but could not see until she stood on
the folding chair. Grandma Matthews grasped Kelsey’s hip in worry, and at first all Kelsey saw were rainbows, big bright rainbows bounding over the curls of the wind, a cloud
of rainbows conglomerating and growing nearer. Her eyes were suddenly overcome with
tears, and she thought she heard her father, and her teeth were suddenly bright, bright
colors again and then she heard them—
“Fag!”
“You deserved to die!”
“Only God wins his war!”
“Live by the bomb, die by the bomb!”
“God hates you!”
“Unnatural life deserves unnatural death!”
“God has punished you!”
The rainbows shining in Kelsey’s tears sharpened as shock dried her eyes, and
the ugly black words thrashed across the signs came into focus. She read on the signs
what she heard over the gravestones. She clamped Grandma Matthews’ shoulder by instinct and withdrew when she felt a bone so brittle as a bird’s wing. All the colors had
leaked out of Grandma Matthews and melted into somewhere far below them, leaving
only her heavy black tweed outfit and her pale, empty skin, and a thousand years of pain
in her muddy eyes. Kelsey stepped off the chair, pushed back the cage veil over Grandma
Matthews’ pillbox hat, and pulled her as close as she could. “Sit down, Grandma,” she
said, leading her to the chair. As her grandmother sat, Kelsey put her palms over her ears
and said, “Don’t hear them. Don’t hear anything that isn’t me. Don’t hear anything they
say. Daddy didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to die; he didn’t deserve anything
they’re saying! He didn’t—” Grandma Matthews’ tears began warming Kelsey’s wrists,
and soon they both could hear nothing but each other’s grief, and forehead to forehead
they tried and failed to shut out the belligerent world.